2019-10-08 - Authorship

It is a gray drizzly night with a chill in the air at Likely Stories, and there is not a single patron to be seen in the empty shop, which happens as the hour draws closer to closing. Closing, however, is a dubious and nebulous time for the shop, however, since Elias kind of closes it whenever he remembers to stop what he's doing and go home unless he has plans. Tonight, he has no plans, and so he sits in a rolling chair behind the counter, tilted back, feet up on the counter, tapping away while the quiet music plays in the background.

It really is an oversight that Dante hasn't come into the shop before. Really, as a writer, the bookstore should have been one of his first stops. But fate and circumstances have meant he hasn't come before now. That and uh, he actually didn't know where it was for the first while. He opens the door, wearing a light, stylish, well-tailored coat over a rust red three piece suit with a navy pocket square. The cooler months means he moves from pastels into darker tones, but they're still flashy for a small town. He moves quite naturally towards where the horror and urban fantasy books are kept, though a few shiny things distract him along the way.

Sometimes, one gets distracted and drawn away from the more obvious places, into the strange and wandering paths of Gray Harbor and all its weird. And, to be fair, Likely Stories is fairly nondescript from the outside as well as the inside, until one notices the odd Occcult section on the upper level. Beyond that, it looks like a miniature Barnes'n'Noble, but not. Elias himself is dressed in a pair of black jeans that look like they were painted onto his slim frame, and a black t-shirt with a grey long-sleeved shirt left unbuttoned over it, his dark hair left loose to fall into his face, brushed back periodically with one hand between fits of typing. The chime of the bell announcing a visitor causes him to lift his eyes briefly, check Dante out for a moment, and say "Welcome to Likely Stories," pleasantly, before going back to his typing, allowing Dante to peruse uninterrupted.

"Ah, hello, good evening," says Dante with a smile. He steps up towards the counter. "I'm...very bad at this sort of thing. Usually my publicist handles it, but I also usually deal with the chains." He's Quite English (TM) in the Oxford-educated, slightly stuffy sounding cliche' way. "Which...sounds conceited. Apologies." He clasps his hands together. "My name is Dante Taylor, scribbler of supernatural tales." He winces. "And...that sounded even worse."

Elias's feet go down off the counter, boots hitting the floor before Dante actually gets to it. He smiles in amusement when Dante starts to speak as he closes the laptop and sets it off to one side, rising to his feet and coming to lean against the counter. "It's alright. I knew who you were when you walked in. I'm familiar with your work, Mr. Taylor." He offers a hand and says, "Elias Weber, proprietor. I heard you were in Gray Harbor and tried not to take any offense that you hadn't been by to visit." Though the flicker of his smile shows there's nothing but humor in the comment. "The rumors, I see, were all accurate."

"Ah, splendid," Dante's smile goes a bit more broad and he shakes Elias' hand. "An oversight, entirely. I've been distracted by the town. No offense intended. I did pop by once a few weeks ago, but you were closed." Then he clears his throat and tilts his head. "Rumours? Oh dear. I guess I do stick out a bit, don't I?"

Marion walks in, wearing a hoodie that covers their hair. They pull down the hood and sigh in relief at the relative warmth of the store. "Hi," they remark offhandedly to the two men at the counter, before strolling, hands in back pockets, into one of the narrower, more precarious aisles. Old books!

New books!

"The town is, indeed, distracting," Elias agrees with a bit of wry amusement when Dante explains his oversight. "And I'm sure that there are plenty of stories for you to explore among all the locals." He leans comfortably against the counter, arms folded lightly in front of him. He considers the time when Dante might have popped by and says, "Well, that's unfortunate. Glad to see you made it while we are open." He then says, "You've a great deal more style than most people who wander through. Add to that, tall dark and British and you do cut a unique figure." When Marion enters he turns to look at them and says, "Evening! Welcome to Likely Stories."

"If you look at my jacket photos, you'd hardly recognize me. They didn't think I'd be a credible horror writer in my usual wardrobe, so they stuck me in this horrendous cable knit sweater and mussed up my hair. They are my actual glasses, though," says Dante. "Do you sell much horror? Something about this town's aversion to talking about the supernatural and the creepy would lead me to believe otherwise." He looks up and over as a new person enters. He nods in greeting.

Marion pokes their head out from around a corner. "Posh accent," they say. "Oxbridge? I had a friend from there. Have a friend." They switch their attention to the store's owner. "Thanks for the welcome. Is the name supposed to be ironic? Because..." Marion gestures to the staircase and its label.

"Well, there's a certain degree of aversion to talking about the creepy that doesn't preclude wanting to drink it up like water. Your books actually sell quite well here, really, along with a number of other horror writers," Elias tells Dante, chuckling about the jacket photo. "Though I'm more than happy to talk to you about the Supernatural if you're interested. I have no such aversions, myself." He smiles a little bit in amusement at Marion's question and says, "The name goes back to the founding of the town. I couldn't tell you what the name was meant to be when it was chosen."

"Ah, wonderful." Dante sounds like he's genuinely pleased by that, and a bit surprised. "Honestly, it's a wonder that I find myself read at all outside of England. So many of my stories are so specific to misty moors. But I suppose if Downton Abbey is a phenomenon, anything is possible." He inclines his head to Marion. "London, primarily. I'm horribly cliche and went to Eton. Ancestral home in Cornwall. For the reason I don't sound like I am, I refer back to Eton and then London."

"Cornwall. Fascinating place. Exposed ophiolite in the southern region." Marion makes their way to Dante and puts out their hand in invitation for a shake. "Marion Tsai. Dabbled in oceanography for far too long before returning to the hometown. I don't think I've ever met someone who publishes actual books instead of academic journals."

"When you grow up in Washington, the misty moors are actually fascinatingly exotic to some," Elias points out. "Anything that speaks of a place that one hasn't been or seen can be interesting." Though he falls quiet when Marion comes over, seeming intrigued by their field of study.

"I'll take your word for it. Mostly I know it for the crumbling family home my father held onto until it almost bankrupted the family," says the Brit to Marion. "Ah, hello, Dante Taylor." He shakes. "To be clear, my publisher does the actual publishing. I just supply the words." He clears his throat and looks back to Elias. "I don't know if you do readings or the like, but I find mine do tend to go over quite well around Halloween. Gets people in the shop before the Christmas season and thinking about books and all that."

"You're staying in town?" Marion remarks, as they browse around the counter. "We're quite the popular place, it would seem."

"I'd be more than happy to have you do a reading here if you'd like to," Elias says to Dante. "Let me know when would be convenient for you, and I can see about setting something up. I'm sure that your publicist will be delighted. We won't even expect you to wear a cable knit sweater, or for anyone to muss your hair."

"Well, good. Half the town has seen me now, so my Stephen King-esque disguise wouldn't fool anyone." Dante grins and shrugs off his overcoat to reveal more of the well-tailored suit. "I've a fairly open schedule. When I'm not doing something else, I should be writing." He nods once to Marion, "Not permanently. I'm in town researching another volume of my nonfiction series."

Marion perks up noticably. "You write both fiction and nonfiction? What's your area of study--History? History sounds like it would make sense for a horror writer. Nobody is afraid of haunted new skyscrapers."

"I suppose that would make it difficult, yes," Elias agrees with a smile. He does appreciate the suit, even if his own wardrobe is decidedly more casual. "Then perhaps next weekend? That will allow me to make sure that I have some extra copies on hand for the event." He then pulls up a calendar on the shop's computer. The laptop must be his personal one. "Have a preferred time?" he asks, when there's a lull in the conversation with Marion, not interrupting them.

"Ah, it's a series called Dark Heart. True crime and legends of different areas. It started because I found a wealth of material while researching my novels. Some preliminary research brought me here, and I've been lingering about to see if there's enough material for a volume on this part of the world." But Dante, like so many, has found himself caught in the town, even if he never intended to be. He turns back to Elias. "Well, normally I'd say the afternoon, but that hardly seems the proper time for ghost stories, hmm? I'm not certain I can compete with the swinging nightlife of the town's three whole places to drink," he drawls with a bit of a playful smile.

"In Gray Harbor?" Marion says dubiously. "Well, all right... anyway, sorry for interrupting your business. I'll get back to browsing." And so they do, wandering around the bookstore.

"It's certainly tough," Elias says. "Though I'm pretty sure there's more than three. We may not have much in the way of night life, but we are quite serious about our drinking." He says, "Alright. We'll go for around sunset then, so that there's a bit of twilight fading into darkness before the reading." He marks something down in the calendar and says to Marion, "You're not interrupting anything," not seeming to mind at all.

Dante turns to give an answer to Marion, but then stops and looks a little perplexed. "All right, then." Instead, he turns back to Elias, and pulls out his phone to make a notation in his calendar. "I like to do a little open mic ghost story session after the reading. Do you think that would go over well? We'd have to give people notice so they come prepared."

"You should make s'mores," Marion offers helpfully from where they're looking through the horror section. "And have warm apple cider. Make it very autumnal. Things are always spookiest in autumn. Oh, I found you." They take out a book and leaf through it. "If I buy it, can I get it autographed?" they ask Dante.

"Sure, I think that would be fun. We can announce it ahead of time and let people know," Elias says, and then glances in Marion's direction. "S'mores could be fun, though without the fire it might be difficult, and we're not lighting a fire in the shop. Though I guess we could set something up outside with hot cocoa and s'mores that could attract people to grab some and come inside for the reading and ghost stories." He looks thoughtful.

"Yes, best not to light a fire in the shop full of paper," says Dante with a little chuckle. "Ah, I can also keep my selection more PG in case children wander by. However, the most exciting parts of my books tend to be the bits with gore and ghosts." He glaces towards Marion. "Ah, certainly. But don't feel pressured just because we've met. I fully admit my tales aren't for everyone."

"I was thinking microwaved marshmallows," Marion admits with a slight grin, "but an outside event might be even better. And I'm sure you have terrifying stories without gore. I remember staying up for nearly a week after reading Hodgson's 'The Whistling Room.' Of course, the fact that in Seattle, you /always/ hear the wind whistling doesn't help." They hold up the book in their hands--THE MANY SINS OF AARON WILSON. "This looks excellent."

"We'll just put up a warning that the reading will contain some gore and ghosts, and let parents decide whether or not their little cherubs are old enough to listen in or not," Elias says, clearly not worrying too much about it. He nods to Marion and says, "Not sure how well microwaving the marshmallows would go. But, we'll figure something out when the time comes."

"That sounds like a wonderful way to ruin a...oh," Dante...blushes a little as Marion holds the book up. "Ah, yes, the perpetual dust-gatherer of my repertoire. Apologies," he says to Elias. "That one has probably been on your shelf for an age. Happy to sign, if you'd like me to." He reaches into his jacket pocket and digs around until he finds a small and elegant business card case. He hands one over to Elias. "Feel free to give me a call and we'll work out more details when we've both had a chance to stew it over."

"I've never been super in touch with what everyone likes," Marion starts, before looking down at what they're wearing. Thick, square rimmed glasses. A hoodie. Tight jeans. Black Converse sneakers. "Oh, god," they say. "Nasir was right. I really am a hipster." They pause, then shrug. "Whatever. I'm still gonna buy it."

Elias takes the card that Dante presents and turns it over in his fingers for a moment before he tucks it into the pocket of his shirt with a nod, "I'll definitely give you a call, and we can discuss the logistics in more detail." Then he glances over at the book and says, "I can assure you that there are those who have a thicker layer of dust in here." Though which ones in particular, he gives no name to, at least for now. He smiles over at Marion then and laughs. "Hipsters don't usually admit they're hipsters, and you don't seem to be trying to be ironic. So I think we can give you a pass."

"Excellent. I look forward to it. I need to get out of my head and nothing better for that than a proper spooky party." Dante doesn't really mean to grin sharkishly, but his face does seem to tend that way. He pulls out a pen, and if given over, he'll sign Marion's book. "I must be off. I've got to get up very early for a conference call with London. That's the one downside of being so far from my publisher." Then he drops his voice and whispers, "Usually it's a good thing because they don't ride my ass quite so much about deadlines. At least they do so via email where it's easier to ignore." He winks at no one in particular, then shrugs his coat back on. "Pleasure to finally make it in. Lovely shop. I'll come back again soon for a proper browse." Then he tips an invisible hat to both and heads for the door.

"He seems nice." Marion turns to Elias. "'Occult, Spiritual, and Metaphysical' seems to take up a lot of room in a bookstore. I'm pretty sure Barnes & Noble just combines it with the Bibles and calls it a day."

"He does," Elias says as he watches Dante go, studying the man as he departs. Then his attention shifts back to Marion and he says, "Barnes & Noble isn't a mom and pop shop started by the Weber witches, though, which probably explains the proliferation of scones and lack of a sizeable occult section."

Marion taps their fingers on the counter and is quiet for a moment. "All right," they say, finally. "I've only just come back. Help me out. Is this customarily the part where we do the song and dance about how witches can't possibly be real, even though I can see you and I /know/ you can see me, because you're practically radioactive, or do the two of us just start out by being honest with each other? I don't know the etiquette of a world that's gone absolutely insane."

"This is the part where I hand you a bill for your purchase, you pay for it, and then we both get out of here because it's late and I need to close up shop," Elias says with a little grin. "Then, maybe we can talk about just what sort of song and dance we're both feeling up to." He sniffs then, in mock offense. "I'm only a little radioactive."

Marion grins. "Fair enough." They buy the book. "Good night, Mr. Pripyat."